


be for real

by blindbatalex



Series: disco mob [1]
Category: Men's Hockey RPF
Genre: Eventual Get Together, Eventual Happy Ending, Found Family, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Unreliable Narrator, Whump, anti-leafs, kidnappings & daring rescues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-15
Updated: 2020-04-13
Packaged: 2020-10-19 08:35:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,523
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20654282
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blindbatalex/pseuds/blindbatalex
Summary: When he is kidnapped by the Leafs following a misunderstanding Jake knows no one is coming to his rescue.(He is so wrong.)





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Bluejay141519](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bluejay141519/gifts).

> \- So this is part of a very loose but very dear AU, aka the disco mob AU, that mostly exists in tumblr drabbles and headcannons. You can find all of them [@discomob](https://discomob.tumblr.com/).  
\- The gist of it though, is that the Bruins as well as the Maple Leafs are 1920s gangs based in Massachusetts. Jake is a paramedic from the 21st century and he accidentally time-travels there, gets taken in by the Bruins and becomes their doctor.  
\- For Blue who has been asking for this fic for a while now. You da best man (and sorry for the anti-Leafs propaganda)

Jake wonders whether he told his mom he loved her the last time he talked to her. They never got along very well so it’s not likely. He should have told her he loved her while he had the chance, though. He should have fucking gone back home while he had the chance.

“Just kill me and get it over with,” he says, trying to square his shoulders, from where he is tied up on the floor. Waves of sharp pain radiate from his injured shoulder at the motion. “I’m a twink from Ontario. I am of no use to you.” 

He closes his eyes against the nausea that rises up. Combined with the throbbing headache and the sensitivity to light he is almost certainly concussed from when they hit him on the head when he was taken. He is cold in his thin shirt and his whole body hurts. 

One of the men -- Jake thinks his name is Gardiner -- turns to him from where he is sitting on a stool at a threadbare table, playing cards with the others. 

“Come now 'Mr. Twink' don’t be so modest,” he says with amusement, “we all saw what you did to Naz.”

“An accident.” Jake replies. They -- including Jake -- thought it was hilarious when in one bar brawl with the Leafs he ended up swinging an elbow and bringing one of their goons down. Kadri got beat up bad, and somehow Jake got this reputation as a deadly fighter out of it, a black ace with a mysterious past. Charlie and Pasta especially -- they sat across from Jake and laughed and laughed until there were tears in their eyes when they heard, the idea of _Jake_ taking anyone down the funniest joke they have heard. Jake was almost offended except for how adorable Charlie looked when his cheeks were flushed like that from the lack of oxygen.

“The guys don’t even trust me with a gun. _I_ don’t trust me with a gun.”

“Don’t worry, you will die,” Gardiner says with a shrug. “But not until Babcock gets here so I would save my breath.”

“And whatever you are expecting in return you won’t get it,” Jake replies. He hasn’t been great at listening to authority in his life and he isn’t about to start doing so now. “They don’t give a fuck about me. And I don’t know anything about their plans.”

Of all the times he lied to save his ass, this isn’t one. The guys don’t wave a gun at his face every day these days or threaten to stab him for being an annoying piece of shit but it’s a near thing. Besides, he taught Matt and Krej almost everything he knows; Matt especially can dress a wound as well as Jake can now and so whatever use he had to them with his 21st century medical knowledge is no more. Maybe if it was one of their own men--

He feels the boot connect with his side before his eyes fully register it. His vision goes white with the pain and he doubles in on himself, trying and failing to draw in a breath, coughing, all conscious thought wiped out of his mind. _Fuck._

“Told you to shut up.”

“Told you to shut up” Jake mimics quietly from the floor once the worst of it passes, not making any effort to sit up.

Maybe if it was one of their own men like Pasta or Brandon who was taken they would at least attempt a rescue but for Jake?

They would give up three corn chips to save his life and not much else. 

He didn’t go back when he had the chance -- Charlie caught up to him just as he was about to step through the portal and he couldn’t -- and now he will die here in fucking 1928 and his mom won’t even ever know what happened to him.

***

He is cold. It might have been a couple of hours since Gardiner kicked him in the ribs or it might have been a year. There is no sign of Babcock.

His thoughts have gone hazy around the edges but he thinks that maybe Charlie would come to his rescue, if he pulled more weight in the org. His revolver blazing, his cheeks pink. An avenging angel with exceptionally soft cheeks, laying waste to Jake’s enemies. Jake smiles to himself. Charlie is soft and so very kind underneath all that bravado, even though he won’t show that side of himself to the world, not when he thinks someone is looking. 

Jake should have shown him a little more mercy, flirted with him a little less, just to watch him squirm. Or he should have kissed him maybe, just the once, while he still had the chance.


	2. Chapter 2

They do come to rescue him, in his dream. 

It starts as a single almost-sound, the barely there creak of a floorboard, but in the next moment tens of guns are getting cocked, maybe hundreds.

“Drop your guns,” Marchy orders, that trademark daredevil grin stretched across his face, the side of him that loves danger, is loving this, and is the reason for the worry lines on Bergy’s face. “You are outgunned, you are outnumbered. It’s over bitches.”

Jake smiles. He taught him that - to use bitch in everyday language. Then again, this is his dream after all.

“And Jake better be alive because otherwise my friend and I here will kill all of you personally. With our bare hands.”

His friend is Charlie, Jake decides. He is there too, behind Marchy, cheeks flushed from exertion, hair damp with sweat, the gun so deadly and sexy in his hands. Two large feathered wings tower behind him, white as snow. The wings of an angel. His avenging angel.

And yeah, Jake better be alive because they will kill all of these pesky Leafs otherwise, which, frankly serves them right for what they put him through.

The pain has receded somewhat but he is so cold, like he will never be warm again, and his head feels like it - he - is floating in some thick, gross liquid.

His dream or not though, the Leafs that have him do no such thing. 

One of them laughs, an ugly sound, the way a cartoon villain would.

“You think what - we will just let your man go? Because you asked?”

Marchy laughs back in return, a short bark of a laugh, but it’s Zee who speaks.

“You will let him go,” he says, his voice deadly calm, “because you are reasonable men. Tell me, who is missing from our party?”

His captors give no answer and this time it’s- this time it’s his angel who speaks.

“Do you think Tuukka, who thinks we are not violent enough, would miss an opportunity like this, to beat up some Leafs, huh?” Charlie asks. His voice is dripping with venom - he is furious on Jake’s behalf. It’s good to hear it again, one last time, even if in a dream. He tries to remember if he told Charlie he loved him, but his head is throbbing and his memories are made of cotton. He hopes he did.

“Unless,” Krej adds and dear Lord how many of them are there? He can see Bergy too, now that he is looking, and Brandon, and Pasta. Knights in shining armor, come to his rescue. In reality, Krej is probably behind the bar right now at their speakeasy, Bergy and Marchy have disappeared for the night to have hot gangster sex, and Brandon and Pasta and Charlie are playing cards. Charlie might be frowning a little because Jake has disappeared. Jake would like to think that if he had more pull in the organization Charlie might have actually organized a rescue attempt. Though given what’s at stake, maybe not. The balance with the Leafs is a precarious one and, while Charlie might miss him a little bit, is probably not something to upset over a single, insignificant guy.

“Unless, oh I don’t know, he had just finished pouring gasoline all around Vivienne’s house - Babcock’s daughter Vivienne, that is - and he was waiting with a lighter in hand,” Krej says and Jake lets the dream pull him again. It’s a much more pleasant way to pass the time than ruing his mistakes and waiting for death. “Give us Jake or her precious family goes up in flames.”

_That’s right. Let him go or Tuukka will burn Babcock’s only daughter’s house down. Take that Leafs!_

He smiles - he would laugh if he had the energy. His subconscious seems to be going all out with this rescue apparently. Which, good for him. He is proud of his subconscious for coming up with this plot.

“You are bluffing,” one of the Leafs counters, the one who kicked him in the ribs. His voice doesn’t sound all that sure though, not anymore.

He watches Marchy shrug. 

“You wanna call our bluff? I’m sure Babcock would be real understanding about why you let his precious Vivienne and his grandson burn alive.”

“You wouldn’t dare,” comes the hurried response, “that would start a war.” 

When he speaks there isn’t an ounce of mercy or hesitation in Zee’s voice. It chills even Jake to the bone and Jake is already practically a popsicle at this point. 

This is so good, he should have written an action book while he still had the chance.

“This - taking our man like this? It’s already grounds to start a war. But we want to avoid needless violence so we are giving you a second chance. Give us Jake, pray he is alive, and no more retribution comes of it. We will call it a day let it go.”

The Leafs talk among themselves in hushed whispers. Jake hears guns uncocking, then footsteps.

“See, I always knew you were smart,” Marchy says gleefully, his voice getting closer. And then there are hands on his face. Fingers digging into his pulsepoint.

“He is alive,” he hears someone say, his voice urgent. And then Charlie is speaking to him. It must be his hands patting his cheeks.

“Jake? Hey man, come on, open your eyes.”

Bad subconscious. Jake praised it _one time_ and it let fame get to its head.

Because for one, that’s a plot hole right there -- Jake’s eyes are already open. He's been watching the whole thing unfold.

But worse, he has never heard Charlie’s voice like this before -- with all filters, and all bravado gone from it. His worry and his love for Jake, naked for all the world to see -- all he cares right now is to know that Jake is fine. He cares so much. He loves so much and this plot has been like buying tickets to Fast and Furious and the movie switching to Pride and Prejudice in the middle. Which Jake has seen, multiple times. But it’s different when you are about to die in an abandoned warehouse, when you wish someone loved you that hard, when you can almost see Charlie at that table they have, looking at his cards to try and decide on his next move.

It’s cruel is what it is. A real dick move that his own mind decided to pull on him.

“This is a dream,” he murmurs, trying to hold onto reality. The words come out heavy, like his tongue doesn’t quite know how to form them. He can feel the tears stinging against his eyes. “No one is coming to the rescue.” 

He closes his eyes tighter and wills dream-Charlie to go away.

“Jake, I’m here. You are safe,” dream-Charlie lies, an edge of desperation in his voice, but then Zee cuts him off to say they don’t have time. 

Ground gives way under him. He is picked up and jostled. His shoulder explodes in searing pain and his ribs stab his lungs. Jake groans and tries to fight it which only results in more pain. He thinks he is going to be sick.

“I’m sorry kid but we need to get out of here,” he can hear Zee say, his voice once again gentle and paternal.

_2/10. Story started out great, completely lost direction in the middle. Would not recommend_, he thinks of typing as darkness pulls him in.

***

He is laid out in the backseat of a car -- Zee’s car. He can tell the sound of that motor anywhere. His head is resting on something warm and very nice. 

“Hey,” Charlie says, smiling down at him, and his pillow seems to be Charlie’s lap. “You are safe, you are going to be okay.” 

Charlie’s hair is falling into his eyes, from the way he is bending his head down to look at him. Jake tries to shift which results in everything hurting. He feels nauseous. Charlie presses a hand onto his uninjured shoulder and tells him to stay still.

It’s dark outside, blurry lights passing them by on the other side of the windows. They hurt his eyes, so he closes them. He tries to feel for the warehouse he knows he is in -- the cold concrete of the floor under him, the voices of his captors at their dingy table. But all he can hear is the motor of the car and all he can feel are Charlie’s fingers stroking his hair. Huh. He must be closer to death than he realized if he is that far gone.

“There are worse places to die,” he muses out loud, allowing himself a smile. “Thighs thick as my chest. The lap of a bonafide stallion.”

Charlie draws in a sharp breath. “Don’t say that,” he snaps back. “No one is dying today.”

That’s his Charlie. So determined and gruff, even in a hallucination conjured up by his dying mind. Jake creaks his eyes open to see how he fit his angel wings into the car. He can’t see them so Charlie must have folded them into his back.

Marchy laughs from somewhere far away.

“Speaking of, when are you two getting together? The kid’s got it bad for you.”

“When are we getting together?” he echoes. “I’ve got it bad for you. My angel.”

He does. He kind of has for a while. Might as well tell him now, even if none of this is real. Might as well have his Hugh Grant moment if his subconscious decided it’s a rom com now.

“You stop this talk of dying and we will.”

Fingers keep carding through his hair. It feels nice.

“That a promise?” Jake asks but he doesn’t hear the answer.

***

Jake is buried under snow. He must have gotten caught in an avalanche. His mom used to warn him of them when they went skiing back when he was a kid. There is a weight on his chest, he can’t move and he is so so cold.

“-two broken ribs but they haven’t punctured the lung,” Matt is saying on the surface, his voice muffled by the snow. “But he is hypothermic and dehydrated. We need to get his body temperature up and get some fluids into him.”

Matt is his star student. Of everyone in the organization Jake has tried to teach what he knows when it comes to first aid, no one else has a knack for it like Matt does. Jake would need two weeks with him to teach him about drugs and modern equipment and he could pass any early 21st century EMT test easy at this point.

Jake is proud of him for this diagnosis even though he is buried under snow and none of it is real and he knows he is dying.

“Matthew,” he says because Matt hates it when you use his full name and Jake likes the way he scrunches up his face at it, mild-mannered and gentle as he is by nature. Jake likes corrupting people.

There is none of that now though. Matt’s voice is so earnest.

“Jake?”

A hand finds his, squeezes it.

When he had first landed here it was Matt they brought in, eyes glazed and blood gushing from a gunshot wound in his upper arm. If he concentrates, he can see Charlie on the other side of a booth from him, the frown on his brow a stark contrast to his chubby cheeks, a sundae between them on the table. _Matt is like a brother to me_, he had said then, begrudgingly, the ice cream a thank you for saving Matt’s life.

“Matt. You need to look after Charlie. I love him.”

He hears a sharp breath and then Charlie hissing “I’m going to murder him if he dies. You hear me bitch, I’m going to murder you-”

“Charlie-”

Matt, always the reasonable one. Jake hears him call his name, from all the way above.

He cracks his eyes open and at first all he can see is a blinding white - that is what happens when you open your eyes while buried under snow - but then his face slowly comes into focus alongside Charlie’s much angrier one. They seem to be in a room, a familiar one. He seems to be in a bed under heavy blankets. Huh. 

“Good.” Matt smiles. He looks like he hasn’t slept in a while, both of them do. Jake wonders what’s keeping them awake, if they got caught in an avalanche as well.

“You are the one-” Matt starts saying but the room starts to shift even as he speaks. 

His features blur, sounds recede far away, and the walls close in on themselves until everything snaps into place like the snap of two fingers.

He is on the floor, on bare concrete, and Kadri is looming over him, leering.

“Thought your little friends came to your rescue?” His voice is positively giddy. “They were going to start a war for you?” He turns to their table. “Hey Gardiner, is that the most hilarious thing you heard this week or not?”

Jake shivers, dread pooling in his stomach, as Kadri turns back to him.

“You are far from home, kid. Nobody is going to save you now and nobody would have even saved you back home.” He takes one more step and kicks Jake in the ribs. Jake’s vision blurs with the pain, his lungs are on fire. 

Kadri laughs, looks him in the eye, tells him no one is coming. Jake knows. Jake has always known.

“How can he think that?” That’s Charlie’s voice, somehow. “We’d burn the fucking city down to the ground. _I’d_ burn the fucking city down to the ground.”

Charlie is furious. At Jake. Kadri is still laughing, the monstrous sound echoing and echoing in his ears. Jake whimpers because it’s all too much. He wishes he was dead already.

“That’s enough!” Matt snaps. “Get a hold of yourself or get the fuck out.”

*

_Jake._

*

"You can hear me, that's good." There is none of the anger from just now in Matt's voice. Jake wonders when he got here. He wonders where here is. He can still hear Kadri in the distance.

"I need you to open your eyes."

Jake whimpers, not a particularly dignified sound, but justified, he thinks, given his current circumstances. It's all fine and well, he'd love to open his eyes, it's just that he doesn't know what he will find if he does. He doesn't want to be in that warehouse anymore, where he is cold and utterly alone. His heart is beating like crazy in his chest and he is shaking.

"I know," Matt agrees, like he really knows. Are those Matt’s fingers Jake can feel stroking his cheek? 

"Can you do it anyway, for me?"

Jake happens to be quite fond of Matt, so.

"For you." 

He finds Matt smiling at him, as if he is very proud of Jake. They seem to be back in the room with the bed. He whips his head around, which- that's a mistake when you have a concussion, but through the nausea and the vertigo he can't see any of the Leafs.

"You are doing so good."

Still smiling, Matt unearths his hand - the one that's attached to his good shoulder. He takes it - Matt's hands are always cold like ice - and places it on-

That's Charlie sitting next to him, perched on the side of the bed. Charlie is mad at Jake.

(But Charlie shakes his head when Jake says that. "No," he whispers, "never with you. I'm so sorry.")

"Can you feel that?"

"Feel what?" Jake wants to ask but then he understands. Matt has placed his hand on Charlie's chest. Through the thin layer of his shirt, he can feel Charlie's heart beating against his palm. A little too fast, but not as fast as his own heart, and strong and steady and so warm, and- and-

“-real. That’s real,” Matt says. Charlie covers his hand with his own palm, the calluses brush against the back of Jake’s hand. “We rescued you. You are at Zee’s house and you are safe. You need rest but you will be okay. You are not dreaming. You are not dying. We are here with you.”

Jake looks at him and then at Charlie, half expecting the room to transform again. It doesn't. Charlie's eyes are shiny in the low light even though he is smiling with all he has.

It makes no sense that they should come for him, but Charlie’s heart keeps beating under his hand and it does not feel like a dream. He thinks back to what happened at the warehouse, what he thought was a figment of his imagination at the time. Did they really do all of that, for him? Risked starting a war, to save him?

“You get better and I will do anything you ask,” Charlie says softly, and that feels real too. The determination in Charlie’s eyes and the way his lower lip seems to be trembling despite his best efforts.

“Anything?” Jake asks, a kernel of warmth blossoming in his chest for the first time in he can’t remember how long.

“Anything.”

Jake smiles. That’s not the kind of card blanche anyone in their right mind should give him, like ever. He could ask Charlie to run naked on the street. He could ask him to join Jake in eating nothing but ice cream for a month.

“Will you kiss me?”

“You bet.” Charlie laughs, but it does nothing to conceal how much he means it. “I’m gonna kiss you so hard you will forget what century it is.”

Jake laughs too, softly so as not to hurt his ribs any further. His eyes are getting heavy and he feels like he is falling but before he does he musters the energy to tell Charlie not to let go of his hand.

He feels like he might get lost without it.

Charlie holds his hand even tighter. When he promises never to let it go, Jake believes him.

***

He drifts in and out of consciousness a few more times after that. He isn’t always sure where he is. Couple of times he wakes up feeling like he can’t breathe and Charlie has to help him sit up and has to rub his back until he calms down. 

But whenever he feels like he getting lost, like he is drowning, Charlie's hand is always there to pull him back into the room. Where he is warm and safe.


	3. Chapter 3

Jake feels surprisingly okay when he wakes up. The merciless light streaming in from the window at the foot of the bed is stabbing him in the eyes, as if it’s not enough that it woke him in the first place. He squints. Yep, that’s definitely a concussion. Other than that, when he takes stock of his body, his shoulder hurts, his ribs hurt when he breathes, and his head is throbbing. Which is bad, but in the grand scheme of things, feels like it could have been a lot worse. Last night--was it only a single night?--is a blur, with Charlie--his hand in Jake’s--the only constant.

Speaking of-

“Hey.”

Jake turns his head and finds Charlie sat on a chair by the bed, still holding his hand. He looks terrible. He is pale, his hair is dishevelled and greasy with leftover product, there are dark bruises under his eyes. 

“How are you feeling?” he asks and he is smiling but there is something murderous in his eyes, vicious and angry and barely contained.

It makes Jake shudder as memories of the warehouse rush back. How he was taken. The cold. Zee with his voice like ice. _Taking our man like this? It’s already grounds to start a war._ Was that last night? A mob war--it would be a massacre. Charlie, Matt, Bergy, Chris, Tuukka--half the organization could end up dead and because- it would be because of him.

He takes in a controlled breath and forces himself to smile.

“Never better.”

Fuck, he didn’t even think they would come for him.

Charlie scoffs. He is still smiling, still furious. 

“Liar.”

He was so angry last night too. Jake remembers Matt telling him off--to keep it under control or get out but he doesn’t remember what ‘_it_’ was.

“Yeah? Have you taken a look at the mirror recently? You look--and smell--awful.”

No wonder Charlie is furious. Had Jake stood his ground--if he wasn’t so weak to let the Leafs take him in the first place--none of this would have happened. They rescued him out of a sense of duty or because they value his medical skill, but that doesn’t make a difference. And the things he said to Charlie--he is pretty sure Charlie likes him back but Charlie is also a mobster and isn’t ready to fuck a guy, isn’t interested, and Jake practically forced himself onto him.

“Jake? You okay?”

Charlie is so kind even now. 

Jake’s throat is closing up. Tears are stinging against his eyes. Every hurried, shallow breath makes his ribs hurt that much worse--he is one step away from a panic attack. Fuck.

_Fuck._

“Can you-” he manages, putting all his energy into making his voice sound even, and closing his eyes because he can’t look at Charlie. “Can you get Matt?” 

“Of course.” 

Charlie stands up abruptly and his anchor, the hands holding his, are gone in a single motion, just like that.

***

Matt should have been a nurse or a paramedic instead of a criminal. He sits with Jake and guides him through the panic attack, reassuring him he is safe, giving him a pillow to hold against his injured ribs, helping him focus on his breathing--a lighthouse in the storm.

By the time Zee pops his head in the door, the world has--for the most part--stopped feeling like it will collapse around him.

“How is our patient doing?” Zee asks in his friendly, deep voice.

That’s something they picked up from Jake too--many a recovering, sick or injured mobster’s room he has entered in his time with the Bruins, with energy he doesn’t always feel and that same question on his lips. 

“He will be back on his feet in no time, stirring up more trouble.”

Jake tears his eyes from the quilt he has been staring at to risk a glance at the Big Man. Zee hates being called that. “Call me that one more time and you will meet the Lord,” he has threatened more than once, fingering his pistol or a particularly sharp-looking knife. 

There is none of that now, though. Zee looks--hell, not unlike Jake’s father looked when Jake was in a skiing accident in his first year of college. His father who was six feet under the earth when he stepped through the portal and who is right now decades away from being born.

Zee motions with his head for Matt. Matt stands up and follows him outside with an apologetic smile at Jake. 

They close the door behind them but the sound still carries.

_...need to talk to him._

A sharp inhale, followed by- _he is too weak._

Jake casts his eyes down at the colorful rectangular pattern on his quilt again. He would like to object, tell them that he isn’t but, that’s the crux of the issue isn’t it? Matt is right. He was too weak to protect himself, and he is too weak now to even carry a conversation. 

He slides down in bed and closes his eyes, hoping that he might find some respite in unconsciousness.

“Would you like me to get Charlie?” Matt asks gently some time later but before Jake has succeeded.

Jake shakes his head without bothering to open his eyes. 

“No.”

He can’t face Charlie--not now. 

***

They come to check up on him.

Tuukka tells him to take his time getting better because they finally know what peace and quiet is without Jake pulling one of his antics at any given moment.

Jake forces himself to smile.

“You can’t _still_ be mad about the time I gave your shirt a much-needed makeover.”

He’d covered it with glitter, but Tuukka looked so good in a black shirt covered in glitter. Like the camp hitman the world deserves.

“For the record, I voted for letting the Leafs do whatever they want with you,” Tuukka says in return.

Of course. There must have been a pros-and-cons discussion about what to do. 

“Well, that’s too bad for you,” Jake replies.

He can see them very clearly in the backroom of the speakeasy, discussing whether getting him out was in their best interest.

Chris tells him to hurry up and come back because not-his-Charlie swears Matt’s hand is much heavier than Jake’s when it comes to stitching cuts.

“That’s because your Charlie is a baby,” Jake replies. A pro for rescuing Jake--he has the lighter touch.

Zee tells him they need to know what he told the Leafs--after Matt must have deemed him strong enough to hold a conversation.

Patrice, his second-in-command is standing in the far corner, by the door. Matt is closest to the bed as if his permission to let them talk to Jake can be withdrawn at any moment. Jake practically wants to give him a brochure for nursing school.

“Nothing.”

“You were in pretty bad shape when we found you,” Patrice adds. “No one here is going to blame you for cracking under the pressure. We just need to know.”

Another pro for finding Jake: he can and will give away all their secrets if they don’t hurry.

It’s true he doesn’t know much about the details of their operation, but live with any group of people for long enough and you pick up on things. The hierarchy, when shipments are picked up, what officials are bribed. 

He looks Patrice in the eye. His headache is threatening to make him sick any moment. 

“I told them I was a twink from Ontario. I told them I was of no use. I told them I knew nothing.”

_I told them no one was coming for me._

Patrice nods, as does Zee. If they don’t believe his answer they won’t press the matter any further. Jake hates them both for not trusting him to hold it together. He doesn’t betray his--can you call early 20th century mobsters your friends? He can’t believe he had the chance to go back goddamnit, to his time, his life, and he let it pass him by. But he doesn’t betray his people.

He gets a sharp jab in his temple and shuts his eyes against the pain. The mobsters take this as their cue to leave.

“Get some rest,” they tell him. The _you are no use to us either like this_ is left unspoken.

Brad laughs and tells him he thought he had no brain-to-mouth filter but man, Jake outdid him altogether. 

“My excuse was that I was delirious, what is yours?” Jake asks him, suppressing a wince. He doesn’t remember half the things he said and he still knows he said too much--almost all of them to Charlie. 

And Charlie. His Charlie. He comes back with a large bag full of sweets and leaves it on the nightstand with a smile and a wink. 

“What- is it the end of days? Jake DeBrusk isn’t interested in dessert?” 

Jake glances at the bag. Even the shiny candy wrappers peeking from the edge are making him nauseous. Damn this concussion. Dam his life, if he is being honest.

“You want me to get you a sundae instead?” 

If Jake said yes, he would. Charlie has a kind, marshmallow heart for all he does to appear tough. The same anger burns deep in his eyes even now, makes Jake recoil into himself, and yet he is still willing to go on an ice cream run, smiling at him so sweetly. 

_I’m sorry_, Jake wants to say. He is. Had he stood his ground, defended himself-. Just because people didn’t die doesn’t mean they couldn’t have. One wrong step, even during the rescue itself, and Charlie would be standing in the rain, watching his friends get lowered into their graves. If it had been Coyle in his place or Tuukka--they would put up a fight, they would have given their would-be captors a run for their money.

How do you apologize for something like that? How do you ask someone to forgive you?

“Maybe later.” He smiles. He tries to. “Headache’s pretty bad right now.”

For a second, Charlie’s expression betrays his true feelings. He frowns and the corners of his mouth tug downward sharply. He quickly paints over it with another smile.

“You need anything else?” 

Shame burns under Jake’s skin, red-hot.

“Nah. I will try to sleep.”

He hasn’t been further from sleep but he pretends to do so until Charlie stands up and leaves with a sigh.

He is proud of how he saves the tears and the sobs for until after Charlie is gone.

***

He is not proud of how he avoids Charlie after that.

It’s better this way he reasons, still, for both of them. His broken ribs mean he is not supposed to do that much talking right now, let alone full body sobs--if he punctures his lung he is dead in this decade.

He feigns sleep a couple of times Charlie comes in to check on him. When he cannot, he sits quietly, staring at his hands, and gives one word answers until Charlie gives up and leaves. 

He has maybe hoped that Charlie’s anger would die down in a couple of days on its own but it doesn’t--if anything it grows stronger with every passing day and awkward interaction. Eventually, Charlie’s natural kindness seems to run out and he stops coming by altogether. 

It is just as well. Matt was right--he is too weak. He was too weak to put up a fight and he is too weak now to bring himself to talk about his time with the Leafs, to apologize properly.

Life goes on. 

Hours pass--however slowly--and give way to days. He sleeps every moment he is able, which takes up a lot of time even when broken up by nightmares. He sits up in bed and reads trashy action books Matt fetches for him when he cannot. 

When he feels a little better he moves--slowly--to the living room during the day. He is still staying with Zee, where they brought him the night of the rescue, instead of his cramped room at the house he is sharing with the other young and unmarried guys. It makes it easier to avoid Charlie. He plays peek-a-boo with Zee’s youngest and shares bread recipes with his wife, Tatianna. He retires to his room before Zee comes back in the evening though, with Patrice and Brad, or Tuukka, Krej in tow, citing aches and pains.

They don’t ask him to join for dinner and Jake is grateful.

***

As a result, he is taken aback when Zee barges into his room after only a perfunctory knock one night, close to midnight.

“This has gone on long enough,” Zee states, striding to the chair by bed and wasting no time on pleasantries. His expression is positively scary. “You need to talk to Charlie.”

Jake sits up in bed, as quickly as he can.

“Is he okay?”

They were out late tonight--Jake doesn’t know what for.

“Yes.” Zee lets out a quick, sharp exhale. 

“We _have_ been talking.”

No one can say one word, stilted exchanges don’t count as talking and they were doing that while Charlie still came to visit him.

“No. You two need to talk about what happened.” Zee looks him in the eye. His pupils are pinpoints even in the dimly lit room--adrenaline? “His guilt is making him reckless and it’s going to get him killed if you don’t.”

_Guilt-_

“Guilt? Over what?”

“Don’t play dumb,” Zee spits back, and oh--this must be why Zee is the most feared mob leader in the city. A chill runs down Jake’s spine at the wild look in his eyes, the unbridled anger directed at him like the searchlight of a prison tower.

“I was the first to yell at him when you got taken,” Zee continues. “For letting it happen. I put him in charge of watching you. But, kid-”

Wait. _Hold up-_

“-he has other duties. He can’t be with you every hour of every day. And he was the one who found your scarf, knew you were taken.”

Jake opens his mouth but Zee doesn’t let him interject.

“Now, I gave you time, because I know what it feels like to be kidnapped--to have your men let you down. But I almost-” He stops and exhales slowly, nostrils flaring. “-I won’t lose one of my best young men because you are taking your sweet time finding enough forgiveness in your heart to even talk to him.”

“I-” Jake runs over everything he heard in his head to try and connect the sentences together in a way that makes sense. It’s doubly difficult with a concussion.

“I’ve been avoiding Charlie because he is so...angry,” he lands on saying in the end. A statement of fact. “At me.” What Zee is saying--he doesn’t understand.

Zee looks as if Jake uttered total gibberish, close to the way he did when Jake ran the entire group through the plot of Game of Thrones that one night. 

That makes two of them at least.

“Why on earth would he be angry _at_ you?”

“Because I-” Jake snatches his eyes away to look at his hands. It’s hard--it’s so hard to say this out loud. “It’s my fault I got taken and it almost started a mob war. So many people would have died and their blood would be on my hands.”

“I don’t understand. Did you _ask_ the Leafs to kidnap you?”

“What?” Jake risks a glance and to his horror realizes it’s a genuine question. “Of course not.”

“So how is it your fault?”

It feels like they are speaking two different languages.

Jake could have fended them off. He could have put up a fight.

Zee laughs. Zee laughing is a scary thing in general but now it sounds positively deranged and loud enough to wake the entire neighborhood. 

“You can’t fight.”

Yes, that’s the issue isn’t it. Jake wants to scream. He can’t fight and because he can’t he could have gotten all of them killed.

Zee must see some of it on his face; his expression softens a little bit.

“You told me there were three of them? It took two in my case. One of them distracted me and the other hit me in the back of the head with the butt of his pistol. I was out like a light. How were you supposed to fight off three trained mobsters?”

Jake searches his face to find mocking, disdain, something--but Zee looks and sounds serious.

“I could have done something,” Jake mumbles--though, when you put it like that… 

Did it really take two guys to knock out Big Man? Only two?

Zee laughs and shakes his head, although thankfully not as loudly this time. “He could have done something,” he repeats to himself. 

Then he turns to Jake.

“Son. When you came to us with your strange clothes and strange words we didn’t offer you a place in the organization for your fighting skill. You are a healer--you don’t take life like the rest of us; you save it, nurture it. That’s a thing we need to protect.”

That doesn’t change the fact of how helpless, how small he felt, feels. 

But-

“Charlie is- mad at himself?”

Christ. And every time he tried to be nice to Jake, Jake gave him the cold shoulder, sat quietly until he left. No wonder his anger would not die down with time.

Zee nods.

“He hasn’t said anything but we all thought you wouldn’t talk to him because- well, he let you down.”

Jake bites down on his lower lip. He can feel tears welling up in his eyes. All this time and Charlie thought- when if anything, it was his own fault. And- there has to be a reason Zee wanted to have this conversation with him in the dead of the night, a reason he looked so feral. _I won’t let one of my best young men die because of you_, he said, which means-

“Come now.” Zee puts a hand on his shoulder. “Get some sleep now; you will talk it out tomorrow and make up. And I expect you at the dinner table tomorrow. ”

Jake offers him a smile, tentative but this time genuine.

“You sure he is okay?”

Zee smiles.

“Yeah.”

“And Zee?”

Zee is almost out of the room but he stops now and turns back to face Jake.

“Why did you rescue me?”

He needs to know for sure so whatever the reason is, he can quieten the voices in his head, the paralyzing web of doubt.

Zee searches his face--what he is looking for Jake doesn’t know. He takes a couple steps so he is standing at the foot of the bed.

“Who do you think we are?”

Question for a question. Jake doesn’t know how to answer that, especially given its sharp edge.

“Do you think so little of us, Jake, after all the time you spent in our home, to be surprised we look after our own? Do you think us monsters?”

Jake hasn’t seen this side of Zee too much before, this cold, burning anger, and he is grateful for it. It is terrifying.

Zee stares him down for another few moments and then leaves without waiting for an answer.

_Our own._

Huh.


	4. Chapter 4

Charlie comes to see him around mid-morning the next day. Tatianna gives him a hug and then takes her leave with an excuse to start cooking. They wait, saying nothing, until the door clicks into place, and then some.

Jake is sitting in the armchair by the window as he is wont to do these days. Charlie takes the corner of the couch closest to him, sits leaning forward with his elbows on his knees. 

“What’s this?” Jake asks, pointing to the white bandage taped to the side of his neck.

Charlie touches it on instinct and blows a half-hearted raspberry.

“Nothing. Just a scratch.”

It’s a very large bandage for a scratch. Besides, there is not much color in his face or energy in his movements. Did he get shot in the neck, that close to his carotid artery? Zee’s actions from last night suddenly make a lot more sense.

God, did he--did their refusal to talk about their guilt--almost get Charlie killed?

“Charlie.”

Charlie looks up. Deep in his eyes, Jake can still make out traces of the same, burning anger, but mostly- he looks scared.

“It’s not your fault I was taken. I never blamed you for it.”

“Yeah, I talked to Zee.” Charlie looks down on the carpet. “It was still my job to keep you safe though,” he adds softly.

Look at the pair of them. Both steeped in their own guilt, trying to carry on while it eats them alive. It’s almost funny.

“Well, I think it was my job to fend those thugs off.”

Charlie scoffs. Honestly, Jake is almost getting offended at how ridiculous everyone in this organization seems to find the suggestion of him in a fight. 

“How were you going to do that?”

“I don’t know. Couple of air kicks a few uppercuts, a nice right hook.” He mimes this last one and tries not to wince in pain when it pulls on his still-healing injuries. But Charlie laughs and it’s worth the pain. “Steal one of their pistols and shoot ‘em dead.”

“Like Batman.”

“Exactly like Batman, yeah,” Jake nods approvingly, chest swelling with pride at how much Charlie has been paying attention to Jake’s rambles on modern pop culture. “You know what else was like Batman? That rescue mission you guys pulled off. I thought I was dreaming it.”

Charlie’s jaw clenches automatically as the smile disappears from his lips.

“Can’t believe you thought we wouldn’t come for you. That I wouldn’t come for you.”

Jake takes a small risk and puts his hand on Charlie’s arm, near his elbow. 

“I was wrong.”

_Do you think us monsters?_ Zee asked and as it turns out, sometimes mobsters adopt flamboyant EMTs from the 21st century as their own. From the rescue they pulled off, to Matt’s diligent care, to Zee’s words last night--he gave them such little credit.

Charlie looks hurt when their eyes meet--it makes Jake’s heart ache. Charlie makes no attempt to move however, and Jake runs his fingers over the soft skin, letting the touch ground him.

“To be fair, I thought _you_ might come if you had more pull in the organization.”

“I would have come on my own even if they said no. Jake, I-” Charlie shakes his head. 

It’s not a sentence he can finish and when he looks up, his eyes are shining in the cold November light. He runs a hand over his face, to discreetly wipe at them. 

“I know,” Jake says. He does. God, he does.

“So.” Charlie’s voice is a little wet, and his attempt to change the topic very obvious, “how much of what you said that night did you mean?”

Jake clamps down on the urge to wince. Part of his brain is screaming at him to deny, deny, deny and save the last shred of his dignity, but he thinks, he hopes, for once that’s not the answer Charlie is looking for.

He goes for a suggestive smile instead.

“You will need to remind me what I said--that night’s a blur.”

“Well, you called me a stallion for starters,” Charlie huffs. It’s meant to sound put off and does no such thing. “Thighs thick as my chest, you said.”

God, Jake was really going for it, wasn’t he, half-delirious or not.

He moves his hand to gently touch Charlie’s thigh.

“I mean, that’s an objective statement. You do have very thick legs.”

Charlie purses his lips. Color is rapidly rising up his neck.

“You called me your angel.”

If he closes his eyes Jake can almost see Zee’s car around him, Charlie looking down with hair falling into his eyes, telling him he was going to be okay. He smiles.

“I thought you must have folded your wings into your back to be able to fit in the car--a terrible, avenging angel come to save me.”

Charlie’s cheeks are red now as are the tips of his ears. It’s very hard, when he looks like this, to stop yourself from reaching out and pinching them. But Jake resists. There are more important things at stake here, right now.

“You made me promise that if you stopped your talk of dying, we would get together when you were better.”

Now, Charlie looks up to meet Jake’s eyes, after examining the carpet in minute detail for the past few minutes. He is squirming in his seat, looks like he would rather be anywhere else in the world, and yet, Jake thinks, he had little reason to bring this up unless he wanted to be held to his promise.

Well, given the amount of guilt flying around in this town of late, maybe there is one reason they are best to eliminate.

“I release you from your promise if you were simply doing everything in your power to make sure I didn’t die.”

He lets the words sink in, searching Charlie’s expression all the while to glean what might be going on in his head. Last thing he wants is for Charlie to feel he is bound to the promises he made when he thought Jake might die in his arms.

“You told me you loved me,” Charlie says in response, quietly. He looks scared but defiant--like a warrior who got tired of living in fear and decided to look death in the eye. That’s his Charlie alright--holding admitting your feelings and death on par. Still he is sitting where he is. He is for once, not running away.

Jake nods, because it’s the truth, because he loves Charlie, even though right now, a part of him wants to run from all this too.

“You also made me promise to kiss you,” Charlie folds his arms at his chest. Jake wonders where he is going with it, when- 

“And I don’t like breaking promises.”

Jake can’t help the small laugh that escapes him. He wishes he still had his iPhone or this room a mirror just so he could show Charlie how red he looks.

“Is that so Mr. McAvoy?”

He stands up, using the armrest for leverage. It still hurts more than the act of standing up ever should be allowed to but he manages to clamp down on most of it--last thing he needs is a fresh wave of guilt from Charlie--and maneuvers himself to the sofa, next to Charlie.

He looks his mobster in the eye, places a gentle hand on his cheek. Their faces are so close he can feel Charlie’s less than minty breath. It should gross him out.

It does not. Not even a little bit.

“We don’t have to do anything you don’t want to,” he says, “you can tell me to stop.”

He needs Charlie to know that, now and always.

Charlie in turn raises his own hand and runs his thumb across the soft skin behind Jake’s ear. 

“I don’t want you to,” he whispers, and in the next moment, their lips find each other. Fucking finally. Jake has been waiting for this moment for months and the real thing feels better than even his wildest dreams.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WIP NO MORE I finished it! I finished it instead of studying though and now have a massive headache as a result so please do give me some love in terms of comments if you liked the story.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading friends! Now I just need to write the ending slkdjfsf but in my defense moving to a new country is a time-consuming effort. If you liked the story, please let me know in the comments below - they are what keeps me coming back to write more.
> 
> I'm also on tumblr @blindbatalex - this especially is a very tumblr-based and loose AU so if you have asks / requests / headcannons please do tell them to me.
> 
> **Drabbles referenced in the fic, in case you are interested:**  
[Where Jake and Charlie get ice cream](https://discomob.tumblr.com/post/186632425802/blindbatalex-for-kureally-ice-cream-prefix)  
[Where Jake has a chance to go back and then doesn't](https://discomob.tumblr.com/post/186652735247/blindbatalex-prompt-response-for)


End file.
